


We Were Strangers, Starting Out on a Journey

by sheyrenawyrsabane



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Boys Are Dumb, De-aging, M/M, cup magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheyrenawyrsabane/pseuds/sheyrenawyrsabane
Summary: A wish on the Cup leads to Sid and Geno reverting to the ages they were when Geno first came to Pittsburgh. Only, it's the summer of 2016, and there's a Cup win to celebrate and an international tournament to play in. Sidney's named captain of Team North America, befriends some kid named Jack Eichel, and misses Geno with a sharp ache in his chest.





	We Were Strangers, Starting Out on a Journey

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I wanted to try my hand at a de-aging story and then I realized I could put Sid on Team North America and laugh at the chaos that ensued.   
> 2\. There isn't actually a two. I just like numbering things.

The Cup has been floating in the pool for a while by the time Flower fishes it out. As soon as it’s back on land, Sid plucks it from his goalie’s grasp.

“Hey!” Flower protests.

Geno appears out of nowhere and smoothly presses a beer into Flower’s hands. “You’ll have the Cup again.” 

Either the promise or the beer settles Flower long enough for Sid to slip away with the trophy. He’s impressed with his sneakiness. He’s quite drunk, and it isn’t like a shiny silver trophy is  _ subtle _ but he manages to escape both the Keeper of the Cup and the rest of his teammates. 

Once he’s inside, he ducks into the study when he hears voices. Shearsie and Rusty pass by the room, and Sid stands very still until their voices drift out of range. Feeling like James Bond, he looks down the left of the hallway then down the right before he sprints for the stairs. 

He winds a familiar path up to his old room. It’s the same as he remembers it from the kitchenette to the couch to the comforter on his bed. He supposes it isn’t his bed anymore. He still gently lays the Cup on the bed then lies down next to it. 

He stretches out, his whole body humming with the win and the sheer amount of alcohol he’s had. The buzzing is probably from the champagne. He grins at the Cup. “Reunited at last,” he says as he strokes the engraving from their last win.

It seems so long ago. It  _ was  _ so long ago. But now they’re here, winners again. 

A chuckle from the doorway draws his gaze away from the Cup. Geno leans against the doorframe, his T-shirt pulling up to show an enticing flash of skin.

“Starting without me?” Geno teases. 

“I’m still in my clothes.”

Geno steps inside the door so he can close the door. He drops down onto the bed. It’s a tight fit with Sid and the Cup already there. They both have to lie on their sides and stretch an arm over the Cup.

“And you said you didn’t want threesome,” Geno says. His eyes dance, teasing again. 

This time last year, Sidney had just won at Worlds. Most of Russia left the ice before the anthem. He remembers looking over at the few Russians who remained. Geno was there. Geno has always been there.

It hit him then. Geno has always been there, and Sid always wants him to be. Right after Worlds didn’t seem to be the right time to say that. He waited until the start of the new season. It took him two days to get Geno alone. He didn’t need to build up the courage to confess. In some ways, that’s what the past decade prepared him for. 

And now here they are, kissing with the Stanley Cup between them.

It’s sloppy, they’re both drunk, and Sid pulls back, giggling. Geno huffs as he opens his eyes. “Always ruining the moment, Sid.”

“I’m not ruining anything.” He tries to scoot closer and bumps his chest into the Cup. “Do you ever wish…” he looks away from Geno.

Geno, never one to let Sid hide, curls his fingers under Sid’s chin and turns his face back to him. “Wish what?”

“It took us so long to get our acts together. All those years we could’ve been like this.”

“You wish you weren’t so clueless?” Geno’s teasing again but there’s something soft under his smile, something vulnerable that says he would’ve liked that too.

“We wasted a lot of years. I wish we would’ve figured our feelings out sooner.”

“Me too,” Geno says.

The Cup is warm between them and Sid must’ve had more to drink than he thought because suddenly his limbs are heavy. His eyes close and he falls back on the bed. He barely has time to miss the touch of Geno’s hand before he’s asleep.

#

He paces the length of the guest room.  _ Your room _ , Nathalie’s kind voice echoes in his head. He rifles through his closet. Should he change? What does one wear to their first meeting with their new fugitive teammate? 

He’s seen Malkin play. He was disappointed when he stayed last year and gutted when he signed a new contract this year. Then Malkin went missing.

And now he’s on his way to the Lemieux’s.

He’s going to be a Penguin.

Giddy, Sid changes into a button down. He hears the doorbell ring and he races down the stairs until he skids to a halt in the entryway. Nathalie smiles at him indulgently. Mario motions for Sid to do the honors.

He stares at the front door and takes a deep breath. He turns the doorknob and opens it.

#

Sidney wakes up and the first thing he sees is the Stanley Cup. 

Eyes flying open even wider, he shoves himself backwards. He falls out of bed and lands on his ass. He scrambles to his feet and looks around. He knows this room. This is his room at Mario’s. But why is the Stanley Cup in his bed?

And...is that another person?

A  _ guy _ ?

The guy in his bed sits up, rubbing his eyes. His hair is a mess as if he’s been sleeping for quite some time. When he stops rubbing his eyes, he drops his hands to his sides.

“ _ Evgeni Malkin _ ?” Sidney squeaks.

Evgeni Malkin stares, his mouth hanging open. The shirt he’s wearing is too big, as if it doesn’t belong to him. Also,  _ the Stanley Cup _ .

“Sidney?” Malkin blinks a few times. “Crosby?”

Sidney looks down at his T-shirt. It’s damp at the collar and smells like...beer? “We need Mario,” Sid decides. He takes a step towards his door then looks back at the Cup. He can’t just leave it here. Can he bring it with him?

His hand hovers over the metal before he wraps it up in his blanket. He can’t touch it until he’s won it.

“Mario?” Malkin echoes.

“Mario Lemieux.” 

Malkin looks from Sid to the Cup he’s bundling up like a burrito then to the door. He shrugs then rolls out of bed. He looks at his own T-shirt. It says Stanley Cup Champions 2016. Sidney stares at it. Malkin’s staring at Sidney so Sidney looks down. He’s wearing the same shirt.

_ 2016 _ ?

Sidney shakes himself. He needs Mario. Mario will fix everything.

He grabs a baseball cap off his nightstand. It proclaims the Pittsburgh Penguins the 2016 Stanley Cup Champions. A picture of what happened begins to form in his head. He takes a deep breath and jams the cap on his head. Malkin nods then finds his own hat and does the same.

Then they head outside Sid’s room.

He follows the familiar path downstairs. From the entryway, they can hear the sounds of a party. Sid takes a step closer to Malkin. Their shoulders brush and he feels better. Centered. He takes a deep breath and walks towards the voices.

“Sid!” a complete stranger exclaims. A moment later, he hugs Sid, careful of the Cup in his arms. “Geno!” Geno--Malkin--is hugged next. Then the stranger steps back. He squints at them. “You okay guys?”

“We need Mario,” Sidney says.

“O-kay,” the kid says. “Let’s go find Mario.”

The kid stumbles as he walks, clearly drunk, but as soon as they’re on the patio, he puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly enough to be heard over the music. Everyone stops talking to turn to the sound. Someone else turns the music off. It’s eerily quiet for a moment before the kid shouts. “Where’s Mario?”

From a crowd of older men near the pool, Mario strides forward. He’s older than Sid remembers which would make sense if it’s 2016. Fuck, it’s  _ 2016 _ . Sid slowly lifts his head, knowing Mario will be able to tell right away that something isn’t okay.

Sure enough, Mario’s warm smile freezes. “Sidney?” he asks.

The backyard falls even quieter.

“Why is the Cup in a blanket?” someone asks.

Someone else shhes them.

“I wasn’t sure if I could touch it,” Sidney says. He voice comes out scared and  _ young _ . There are few gasps. Sid holds the Cup out to Mario, an offering and a plea.

“Well…” Mario looks from Sidney to Malkin. “It looks like we have a situation.”

#

Cup magic is a rumor, something whispered about by players, but it isn’t  _ real _ . Except it is. Because it’s 2016 and Sidney is the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins and Evgeni Malkin is one of his alternates and they just won the Stanley Cup. And now they’re 19 and 20 respectively. Sid darts another look at Malkin--Geno. He must be even more confused since he barely speaks any English.

Sid, Geno, Mario, and Sergei Gonchar are in the study as Mario calls everyone he can think of.

Finally, Joel Quenneville, who has apparently coached the Blackhawks to three Cups, provides some insight. “Cup magic? Oh, yeah. We had a run-in with that. Whatever happened, it’ll wear off by the start of the season. Once the Cup isn’t yours, the magic fades.”

Sidney looks over at Geno. That means they’ll be stuck like this until then?

“Or,” Quenneville says, and everyone in the room draws a collective breath, “If you fulfill the wish then it reverts back. Does anyone know what the wish was?”

Sidney’s shoulders slump. The last thing he remembers is the doorbell ringing. Whatever he and Geno wished for, he has no idea. Gonchar translates and Geno shakes his head. He doesn't know either. 

“Thank you, Joel,” Mario says.

“It’ll all work out.”

Mario looks over at Sid and Geno. “It isn’t next season I’m worried about. We have the parade and the World Cup of Hockey. There won’t be any hiding this.”

“The World Cup of Hockey?” Sidney repeats.

#

Apparently there’s an international tournament this summer. Geno looks gutted when Gonchar tells him. Then Gonchar says something that sounds reassuring, and Geno’s expression crumbles even more. Sidney looks away even as he itches to reach out and pull Geno into a hug.

He doesn’t know where the urge comes from.

#

The parade is surreal.

The whole city turns out to celebrate. Sidney hides behind his sunglasses and his cap and his jersey and pretends he remembers the season that brought the parade. He stands next to teammates he doesn’t recognize.

_ Phil Kessel  _ gives a speech. 

He nudges Flower as discreetly as he can. “What did we have to give Boston to get him?”

Flower looks at him, surprised then seems to remember that Sidney doesn’t remember anything past his rookie season. “Toronto paid us to take him.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not this time,” Flower says. He slings an arm around Sidney’s shoulders and hands him a beer. Sidney gladly drinks it. 

#

He goes home to Cole Harbor. His family knows what happened and they know it’ll wear off, but it doesn’t make it any less weird. 

Taylor’s older than him.

It’s fucking with his head a little bit.

“You have no idea what you wished for?” his mom asks, gently, as if she’s afraid of upsetting him.

Sidney shakes his head. “I don’t even know why I would. That was our second Cup. I had a great season. I won the Conn Smythe. What else could I have needed? And why would I end up a teenager again?”

“Oh, Sidney,” his mom says.

Sidney rubs his chest. It aches, deeper than a bruise. “I miss Geno.”

Taylor looks up from her phone and her eyebrows pull together, confused. “You don’t even know him.”

#

Sidney scours the internet for mentions of Geno. He sees the headlines that announce that he’ll play for Team Russia at the World Cup of Hockey. Geno even does a few interviews, shy in front of the cameras, looking younger than he did waking up in Sidney’s room.

That’s another question Sidney hasn’t had answered. What were they doing in Sidney’s room together? In his bed? He supposes he’ll have to wait until they turn back to get his answer. 

Gonchar is with Geno for all of his interviews. Ovechkin is there for some of them. Geno sounds reverent when he speaks of Team Russia. He keeps glancing around as if he’s waiting for someone to tell him he can’t play.

Doug Armstrong, GM of Team Canada calls to tell Sidney that unless he reverts back to his older self, he won’t be allowed to play for Team Canada. Mike Babcock calls to express his regret, and fury, that Bettman won’t budge.

There’s a Team North America, full of the best 23-and-under players from Canada and the United States. It means a call from Stan Bowman, offering Sidney a place on the team if he’s still young enough when the tournament rolls around.

It’s hockey and Sidney will never turn down an opportunity to play.

When his acceptance hits the news, the entire world seems to lose their shit. 

Canada tries to get him banned from the tournament entirely. John Tortorella claims it’s some kind of conspiracy. Some blogger out of Toronto speculates that with Crosby and McDavid playing on the same team that the NHL is definitely not going to the Olympics.

“Who’s McDavid?” Sidney asks.

#

So. He’s playing on a team with the kid who’s supposedly replacing him.

That’ll be something.

#

Team North America is a bunch of kids. Sidney doesn’t know any of them. They all know him, and they tiptoe around him, glancing at him then glancing away. Well, almost all of them. McKinnon, the big, solid one, his gaze lingers, sad, as if he’s waiting for some kind of recognition. Eichel, the curly-haired, angry one stares at him like it’s a challenge.

They’re in Quebec City for their slapdash training before they play their first pre-tournament game. Fortunately, a locker room is a locker room. And hockey is hockey. That will be familiar at least. But, “Team Europe?” Sidney finally asks.

Eichel laughs. “It’s not like we have much room to judge. Team fucking North America.”

And, well, Sid can’t argue with that. He changes into his gear and looks around the room. He’s one of the youngest in the room. They gave him the C. It feels weird against his jersey. According to the articles he’s read, he’s worn the C for Team Canada and Pittsburgh for years now. Years he can’t remember.

Now they’re asking him to captain a team full of kids he’s never heard of let alone played with.

He figures a de-aged hockey player is probably the best captain for a made-up team. It doesn’t stop it from being weird, the way all their heads swivel to him when he stands up. 

“At ease,” he jokes.

No one relaxes. 

He feels too big for his skin as if he’ll trip once he takes a step. He takes a deep breath so he doesn’t hunch his shoulders. They expect him to lead. It’s just hockey. He can do this. “We have our first practice.”

As far as inspiring speeches goes, it ranks near the bottom, but it does its job. Everyone finishes getting ready and they hit the ice. Sid skates around the rink, big open strides to warm-up then shorter, faster ones. Being on the ice will always feel like home, no matter what age he is. 

He grabs one of his sticks off the bench and corrals a loose puck. He shoots it at Eichel’s skates. The kid looks up, pissy, his face already flushed red.

“Come on,” Sid challenges.

The kid glances at McDavid before he shrugs and grabs his stick. He and Sid pass back and forth before they move onto playing keep away. Sid’s done his research. There’s a 1st-2nd rivalry between McDavid and Eichel, compounded by Buffalo’s management being fucking idiots. Sidney isn’t a stranger to the hockey world being stupid or unfair. He also needs the team working together if they’re going to win this thing. 

So he works with Eichel until they’re both sweating then he calls McDavid over. The three of them practice until Sid casually slips away, jumping into a drill with Auston Matthews. He’s an American and another solid player. Sid pushes at his shoulder, curious. Matthews doesn’t budge but he does lift his eyebrows, amused.

“Soft hands  _ and  _ a banger?” Sidney asks, impressed. 

“Is this porn or hockey?” Ekblad asks skating by. Then he skids to a stop, snow showering their goalies. His facial expression goes from tortured to horrified to I’m-about-to-be-sick. McKinnon punches his shoulder, hard. Ekblad, strangely, looks more at ease afterwards.

Sid frowns at them both then grabs Gaudreau so he and Matthews have a line’s worth of players. 

#

The team is a bit of a mess. Some of them have played together in international tournaments and some of them have played together on the same team, but they aren’t all a team. Not yet. This isn’t the first time Sid’s been thrown into a group of guys and told to make it work.

But this situation is a bit different. There’s McDavid who watches him as if he’s looking for cues. There’s McKinnon who hovers as if he wants to say something but he never quite gets up the courage. Murray, their goalie and one of Sidney’s NHL teammates, watches him constantly. Sidney knows nothing about him.

He watches some old footage of himself one night. It’s from the beginning of this past season. After the fourth broadcaster declares his career dead and done, Sidney stops watching. He won’t find who he is in last season’s footage. He won’t even find it in the footage from his rookie season.

Whoever he is right now is someone he’ll have to figure out. He finds himself missing Bergy. He’d even settle for Webs right now, even though at the last international tournament they played together, he pulled the elevator prank.

Everyone here is too awed by him to prank him or even joke with him. Maybe that’s why he keeps drifting towards Eichel. The kid is too angry and too bitchy to care that it’s Sidney he’s talking to. 

They play their first game in two days against Team Europe. They’re playing in Quebec City, and Sidney knows it’ll be in front of a full house. They’ll need to put on a good show. Idly, he wonders how Canada will react to Team North America. Support because their best young talent is on the team? Or irritation because some of that talent was kept off Team Canada? 

He takes Nugent-Hopkins with him to the corner store. Nugent-Hopkins shoves his hands into his pockets and says, “Not that I’m against this, but just because you’re a few years younger doesn’t mean no one here will recognize you.”

Sidney shrugs but he tips his hat down lower. “We’re all legal.”

#

By some miracle they aren’t recognized, and they bring back an impressive haul. They take it to Sid’s room. He’s the only one on the team to have a single, and he was uncomfortable being singled out more than he already is, but he appreciates the space now as the whole team crowds into his room.

Eichel’s Team North America hat threatens to spring off his curls. Gaudreau looks small in his T-shirt or maybe it’s because he’s next to McKinnon. Sid hands out red plastic cups. 

“Classy,” Larkin says. He nudges Matthews. “This brings back memories.”

Eichel snags a can of beer and cracks open the tab. “So, we’re going full party here?”

“Spin the bottle?” Rielly teases.

“I’m not kissing any of you fuckers.” Eichel takes a swig of his beer. “Never have I ever had sex in the sand.”

“Fuck you.” Larkin grabs the rum and mixes it with the Coke someone else brought. He takes a drink. “Never have I ever fucked a girl on top of a washing machine.”

Eichel smirks as he drinks. He wipes his mouth with the back of the hand. “The vibrations make it more fun, Larks.”

“Never have I ever had a girl puke on me while I was going down on her,” Seth Jones says.

A surprising number of players drink.

It’s been a while since Sidney played this game, and honestly, this isn’t where he thought the night was going, but it isn’t a bad option. It’s a roundabout trust-building exercise, and it’ll give the guys a chance to chirp each other.

He mixes himself a drink then takes his first sip after Trouba says, “Never have I ever shot a hockey puck into a dryer.”

Eichel laughs as McDavid, his face bright red, takes a drink.

“Oh, is this what we’re doing?” Couturier asks. “Never have I never been in a Tim Hortons commercial.”

McKinnon drinks then says, “You too, Sid.”

Someone pulls up the video on his phone and hands it to Sidney. He watches an older of himself with McKinnon as they completely lose their shit over the word jalapeno. He laughs as he takes a drink. 

They go around in a circle and occasionally a teammate, usually McKinnon or Murray, will prompt Sidney to drink. There’s a brief debate over whether he should have to drink for things he doesn’t remember happening, but he’s outvoted. 

They’re pretty tipsy by the time Gibson says, “Never have I ever kissed a teammate.”

Sid’s surprised at how many guys drink. He doesn’t make a mental note of each of them but it does make him wonder. Has hockey changed that much since he was drafted? He catches Murray’s eye and the goalie gives a subtle look at Sid’s drink.

Sid drinks but he has questions. Who has he kissed on his team?

“Woah, really?” Larkin asks.

Two different guys smack his shoulder.

Sidney looks over at Murray. There’s no way that Sid’s admitting to the time he kissed Jack on a dare. Or the times they kissed each other, mostly sober, after that.

“It’s a Cup thing,” Murray says.

Saad nods. “Lots of kissing there.”

“Hey, there’s one,” Jones says even though it isn’t his turn. “Never have I ever won the Stanley Cup.”

“Sucks to suck,” Murray says then drains his cup. 

The game devolves from there, deliberate targeting featuring gems like, “Never have I never called Sid, Mr. Crosby” and “Never have I ever been Canadian” and “Never have I ever worn a stupid fucking flag”. Eventually, they just drink. 

Sid is giggly at the end of it, listing into Mats who is nice enough to hold him up. 

“It’s a good thing we’re already in your room,” Muzz says, watching on, amused.

“You’re my goalie,” Sid says. His words slur but it’s too much effort to enunciate clearly. “You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“Flower told me you were a lightweight when you were younger.”

Sidney doesn’t know Flower as well as he will once he has his memories back, but he still smiles fondly at the mention of his goalie. Muzz pulls back the sheets of Sidney’s bed. 

“Never have I ever tucked a Canadian superstar into bed,” Eichs mutters as the team clears out.

Nuge shoves Davo into Eichs. “You won’t be able to say that after tonight. Team building.”

Sid brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face. He’ll clean his room up in the morning. Right now, his bed calls to him. He slides into it. 

“I don’t remember winning with you,” Sid tells Muzz as the goalie pulls Sid’s covers up for him. “But I will remember. And in the meantime, we’ll win here.”

“Good night, Sid.”

“Night, Muzz.”

#

The Videotron Centre is packed for the Team North America-Team Europe match-up.

“Two made up teams playing a meaningless pre-tournament game,” Eichs says as they dress.

“Every game is important,” Sidney says. He keeps a straight face for about two seconds before be giggles, barely on the right side of hysterical.

“You’re funny,” Eichs says. He sounds surprised. “Did anyone else know this?”

“Jalapeno,” McKinnon whispers.

Sid’s nerves settle as he laughs and jokes with his teammates. He almost forgets the crowd waiting in the arena and the C that weighs heavy on his chest.

#

Coach McLellan starts Sid at 1C with Eichs and Johnny on his wings. It’s a good line; speed from Johnny, playmaking from Sid, and physicality with a finish from Eichs. The first time Eichs fights off  _ Chara  _ for a puck, Sid is in awe. 

The second time, he takes Eichs’s dish and fires on net. Halak makes the save, covering the puck. Sid’s line switches out for Davo’s. Three minutes later, Sid’s on the ice again. Johnny leads them into the zone, neatly skating around the defenders. He slides the puck to Sid who drops down the wing, drawing Halak to the side of his net. Two defenders converge and Sid slides a pass to Eichs, waiting on the far side of the net.

He has almost the whole net to shoot at and he doesn’t miss.

Sid throws his arms up even though it wasn’t his goal. Eichs punches his fist in the air then stands still so they can swarm him. 

#

Davo draws a penalty at the end of a long shift so the second power play unit hits the ice first. McKinnon scores, and he lifts his arms over his head and shouts as the stadium cheers with him. 

#

It isn’t until deep in the second period that the first power play unit has a chance to play. Marian Hossa (Sid’s playing against  _ Marian Hossa _ ) slashes Drouin and is sent to the box.

When Sid and Davo go over the boards, the crowd goes wild. They scream and shout and chant. Sid pauses, eyes wide as he looks over at Davo. Davo looks equally alarmed. It’s Eichs who nudges them both. “Are you ready to score a fucking goal?”

The crowd’s excitement as Sid and Davo taking the ice together is nothing compared to the roar when Davo scores off a pass from Sid. The whole stadium seems to explode with noise and it doesn’t stop. They’re loud through the celebration, the fist bump line, and they’re still cheering as Mats is sent out for the next faceoff.

_ This is where I’m meant to be _ , Sidney thinks as he sits down on the bench.

#

The locker room is jubilant after the win. 

“Don’t you ever talk shit about me and my made up hockey team ever again,” Eichs says, seemingly to no one, as he pulls his jersey over his head.

Sid wipes his face off with a towel, strips down, then rubs the towel over his face again. He plops a Team North America hat on his head.

“Orange is a good color on you,” McKinnon says.

“Orange and black  _ are _ the best colors to play hockey in,” Couturier says. “Wanna take a selfie?”

“What’s a selfie?” Sid asks. 

The entire locker room grinds to a halt.

“Holy shit.” Eichs looks gleeful.

“Where’s my fucking phone?” McKinnon demands.

“Guys,” Nuge says, but his attempt to be an adult is quickly overwhelmed by everyone scrambling for a camera.

#

Team Canada plays their first game the next night. They lose 2-4 to Team USA. The next day, Sid’s ambushed before practice by reporters.

“Do you think Canada would’ve won if you were there?” 

Sid wants to tip his hat lower to hide. Instead, he squares his shoulders. “Team Canada knows how to build a winning team. It’s the first game of the tournament. They’ll skate off the rust and be fine.”

“They’d be better with you.”

It would be arrogant to agree and no one would believe him if he disagreed. “The last time I played for Canada was Worlds.”  _ We failed to medal. And, earlier that season, they didn’t want me for the Olympics _ . “It was a different time.”

He leaves his interview feeling vaguely guilty. He knows the de-aging is his fault. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but whatever he and Geno wished for made them like this. If they hadn’t made their wish then he’d be himself, and he’d be playing for Canada. 

Muzz finds him on his way to the locker room. He bumps Sidney’s shoulder but doesn’t pressure him to talk.

It’s nice.

#

They play Team Europe again, at the Bell Centre this time. They win 7-4, and Sid notches another three assists. It wasn’t a great showing for Gibson but at least he had a better night than Greiss and then Halak. 

“You have five assists so far in the tournament,” one of the reporters says. Sid nods and bends the brim of his hat. “No goals, yet. You’re not playing the way we’re used to seeing you play.”

_ Well, I’m not exactly the player you’re used to seeing _ . “I have to be patient and put pucks on net. Trust the system. In the meantime, I’m setting up my teammates. It’s the numbers on the scoresheet that matter, not the names.”

“Now you sound like the Sid we know.” One of reporters laughs and Sid forces a smile. 

#

They fly to Pittsburgh for the final game of the pre-tournament. Team Russia is already there and an article comes out about Geno taking Sid’s stall in the locker room. The local media claims he’s protecting it from Ovechkin.

_ Malkin doesn’t even know me _ , Sid thinks. Still, reading the article makes him smile. Team Russia has the ice after Team North America tomorrow. Sid makes a mental note to stay and watch for a bit. 

He and Geno are back in their city, but the city still doesn’t feel like his. And he still doesn’t know Geno. But he wants to. And part of him wants to see the other hockey player. Is this part of their wish too? This ache he feels at not being near each other?

“Yo, Sid, are you inviting us to your house?” McKinnon asks.

Sid looks up from his phone. “Uh, sure. Do you know where it is?”

There’s a beat of silence, as Sid reminds everyone, once again, that he’s not quite himself. But then Muzz stands up and says, “I know how to get there. We can stop at the store on the way. You have a nice grill. We should use it.”

And that’s how Sid ends up hosting Team North America at his house.

His house is huge, and he stares at it for a long time before he turns to Muzz. “What do I do with a house this big?”

Muzz shrugs. 

Sid has keys on his ring and he tries them until he opens the door. The guys follow him into the house, carrying their purchases from the store. Sid gestures for them to put the stuff somewhere as he takes off his shoes. Curious, he wanders into his living room. It’s unsurprisingly normal. It looks like the kind of room selected out of a catalogue.

The only personal touches are a couple pictures scattered around and the fleece Steelers blanket. He leaves the living room to investigate the pantry. There’s a whole shelf dedicated to tea. He didn’t realize he liked tea. There’s four boxes of Russian tea.

Sid looks over his shoulder, feeling as if this should be a secret. He closes the pantry door and wonders what other secrets his house has. 

“Do you need a minute?” Saader asks, surprisingly perceptive. 

Sid shakes himself. “We’re good. Uh, does anyone know anything about grilling?”

“I can Google it,” Johnny volunteers. 

“I’ve got this,” Mats says. 

They all crowd around to watch Mats work. Once everyone is satisfied that he won’t ruin dinner, they break off into clumps. 

Sid’s a little bit surprised when Davo gravitates towards him. So far, they’ve never been alone together. They’re still not alone now, but everyone else gives them space. Sid figured it was because the comparisons have intensified now that Sid’s closer to Davo’s age. Personally, he thinks it’s stupid. They’re not the same player. It’s been obvious only from a few games. 

“Is it weird?” Davo asks.

“Yeah.”

“You’re handling it better than I would.”

“I know it’ll be over soon. That helps. And I have hockey to distract myself with.”

Davo smiles a little. 

“This is probably pretty weird for you.”

Davo shrugs. “It’s kinda cool. But yeah. A little weird.”

“Sorry if I’m stealing your spotlight. This was supposed to be your team.”

Davo shrugs again. “It’s a made up team. And the media spent all last year trying to write you off. It’s probably only fair that you take your place back.”

“Hockey’s never fair. And there’s space in hockey for more than one person.”

“Try telling Don Cherry that.”

Sidney laughs and tucks his hands into his pockets. 

#

After practice, Sidney showers then changes into a Team North America tracksuit. It’s still weird to look down and see the logo, but he thinks it’s probably weird for everyone.

“We’re going to lunch,” Muzz says. “Do you want to come?”

The team’s splitting into groups depending on what people are in the mood for so Sid doesn’t feel bad for saying no. “I’m going to hang out for a bit.”

“Commune with the rink?” McKinnon nods as if this makes sense. 

Sid heads to the kitchen for a snack then he heads up to ice level. When he emerges from the tunnel, most of Team Russia is on the ice. They aren’t practicing yet, just warming up by skating or stretching or doing some lazy stickhandling. 

“Are you here to steal our secrets?” Ovechkin asks.

He’s bigger than Sidney remembers. He’s grayer too. Sidney knows better than to say that. He also doesn’t have anything to say to his supposed rival. He shrugs then looks at the ice. Geno has the puck, and he dekes and dangles, showing off the hands that made him a top prospect at the draft. 

_ In a few weeks, we’ll play together _ .

“Ah,” Ovechkin says. He sounds amused. “Here to steal our Zhenya. Zhenya!”

Geno looks up, surprised. He smiles, hesitant when he sees Sidney, but he skates over. Sidney smiles at him. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Ovechkin looks between them as if they’re high quality entertainment. 

Sid pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Uh, do you want to do the selfie?”

Ovechkin claps a hand over his mouth, delighted.

Sidney ignores him. Geno’s staring blankly so Sidney opens the camera function then reverses it so they can take a selfie. Geno’s face lights up as soon as he realizes what’s happening. His goofy smile fills the screen before he snatches the phone. He says something in Russian.

“Longer reach,” Ovechkin translates.

Geno snaps a shot then hands Sidney his phone back.

“Thank you,” Sidney says. They’re both smiling in the picture. Their international teams are obvious, the Russian eagle and North American...triangle? both in the shot. Soon, they’ll play Penguins hockey together. Soon, they’ll both be themselves again. “Good luck against Canada.”

Ovechkin translates then grins as he tells Sid, “Zhenya says they’ll be easy to beat without you.”

“Zhenya,” Sidney repeats, or at least he tries to. “Is that a Russian nickname?”

“It’s a special name.”

Sidney thinks about his phone and the conversation he has with someone named Zhenya. He’s been curious before but not enough to open it and try to figure out who it is. But since he didn’t see any texts between him and Geno then Geno must be saved in his phone as Zhenya. That...means something. He just isn’t sure what.

“I should let you practice,” Sidney says.

“Aren’t you going to wish  _ me  _ luck?” Ovechkin asks.

Sid just laughs and heads back down the tunnel. 

It feels weird going in the opposite direction of Geno, but it isn’t like he can stay and watch the Russian’s whole practice. He lingers for a bit, trying to absorb whatever comfort he can from an arena he doesn’t remember. He knows the holes in his memory will fix themselves once the new season starts. 

He just…

He calls Muzz and asks for Geno’s address. He gives it without question, and Sid punches it into his car’s GPS. After sitting with the car in park for a moment, he pulls up his recent address history. There’s a Russian restaurant there. That’s another piece of a puzzle that doesn’t make any sense.

Sid stops there on the way to Geno’s. When he walks in, the two waitresses smile at him and wave. They greet him in Russian which he smiles and nods at. One of them ushers him over to the counter while the other goes back into the kitchen. 

Someone else comes out. This woman is older, laugh lines embedded deep in her face. She clasps Sid’s face between her hands and makes a sound of surprise. She touches his cheeks then his nose. She says something to the waitresses who peer at him, equally surprised.

“Cup magic,” he explains.

The woman clicks he tongue at him and delivers a scolding. It’s all in Russian, but he understands the gist of it. She’s not happy with him. Her and all of Team Canada. 

“And Zhenya?” the woman asks, in English now.

“Zhenya too.”

She eyes him as if she’s trying to pull answers out of his head. Sid doesn’t have any answers, only a growing list of questions.

He has even more questions when the woman disappears into the kitchen, only to return to with a bag full of take out containers.

“You like this,” she tells him, handing it over. 

He’ll have to take her word for it. “Thank you.” He makes sure to leave a big tip. 

#

One of the keys on Sid’s ring opens Geno’s front door.

Another puzzle piece.

Sid sets the takeout down on the counter and shamelessly goes through Geno’s house. The fridge reveals Sid’s favorite jelly. The pantry reveals his favorite peanut butter. Sid’s heart beats faster. There’s a book on Word War II planes in the living room. It’s been years since Geno came from Russia, maybe his English is up to reading dry war testimonials. Sid doesn’t really believe it.

Sid takes the stairs two at a time. After a brief debate with himself on ethics, he steps into the master bedroom. He ignores the giant bed and the two closets for now. The bathroom has two toothbrushes. It also has that Tom’s of Maine toothpaste that his mom had to order in bulk for him when he was a kid, because she could only find it in Maine. It tastes like strawberries.

Sid opens the cabinet as his heart beats even faster in his chest. There’s nothing damning in there but below the sink, Geno has three different razors and two different kinds of shaving cream. Sid has to leave the bathroom.

He eyes the dresser then decides he doesn’t want to know if any of his clothes are in there. He goes back downstairs. He and Geno are together. Maybe. They could be really good friends. He laughs at himself as soon as he thinks it. Friends explains the tea at his house and the jelly at Geno’s. Maybe it explains the book. It doesn’t explain the bathroom.

Friends keep their friends’ toiletries in the  _ guest  _ bathroom.

Sid and Geno are...more than friends.

What happened the night of the Cup party? 

Maybe Sid shouldn’t have come here. But he spent the summer missing Geno, someone he technically doesn’t even know. He felt drawn to Russia’s practice, and he feels at home here. Settled. Maybe the Cup magic is trying to bring them together. Maybe whatever they wished for can only be fixed if they’re together.

But what happens if they revert back to their older selves in the middle of the tournament? 

Is he re-assigned to Team Canada? That hardly seems fair to his new teammates. He’s confident they’d do fine without him, but they’re growing on him. He wants to see this thing through.

Maybe he should leave.

He’s halfway to the door when he remembers the takeout on the counter. He probably shouldn’t leave it. He goes back for the bags then the front door opens. 

“Hello?” Geno calls, confused.

“Hi,” Sid says back. 

Geno comes into the kitchen. He drops his gear bag on the floor and looks over at Sidney, confused. Sid doesn’t blame him. He takes the the food out of the bag. “I brought you lunch.”

Geno’s frown deepens as he comes over to investigate. He pops the lid on some kind of turnover. He pokes it then looks at Sid. “You like Russian?”

He doesn’t know how to convey that his GPS has a Russian restaurant saved or that he has a standing order or that the people there kept waiting for Geno to follow him in. He shrugs and pushes the container towards Geno. “For you.”

“You--” Geno makes a frustrated noise. He finishes his thought in Russian.

If Sid’s older self speaks the language, it isn’t helping him now. He shrugs and wonders again, what the hell their wish might’ve been. They don’t understand each other. If they’re supposed to be repairing a fight or something then communication skills seem like they would be useful.

Geno curls his fingers around Sidney’s wrist to catch his attention. His fingers are long, and his hands are calloused from playing hockey. Sid glances up, realizes too late that he’s looking up through his lashes. It’s a  _ look _ , and he’d feel worse about it except Geno’s looking back, his eyes hooded, his gaze fixed on Sidney’s mouth.

And, well, Sid knows how to read  _ this  _ situation.

He shuffles closer. Something buzzes under his skin, bubbly like champagne and insistent like the high after a good win. He tips his head up and wonders if Geno’s always been this tall. The Russian has to lean down, and Sid keeps his eyes open. He wants to see it happen. He wants--

“Zhenya!” Ovechkin’s voice carries down the hallway and Geno springs back. A moment later, Ovechkin saunters into the room. He pauses when he sees Sidney, leaning against the island counter and Geno, somehow almost in the living room. His face morphs into a sleazy smile. “I didn’t realize you had company.” He says it in English then Russian so they can both be embarrassed.

“I’m leaving,” Sidney says.

“No, stay, stay.” Ovechkin brushes past him to investigate the food. “What is this? You’re a delivery boy now?”

Somehow, Ovechkin has only gotten more annoying since their rookie year. When Sid says this, Ovechkin laughs then squishes Sidney’s cheeks between his hands. “We’re best friends, Sidney. There is love in my heart for you.”

Sidney knocks his hands away while Geno growls. 

“Why are you here?” Ovechkin asks, more serious now. 

“I have no idea,” Sid answers honestly. “It just felt...right.”

Ovechkin’s eyebrows do a weird dance, switching between amused and concerned and fucking diabolical. Sid decides that it’s time for a tactical retreat. 

#

Back at the hotel, he runs into Eichs, Larks, and Mats in the lobby. They’re coming back from somewhere, wearing T-shirts, their faces glistening with sweat.

“Cap!” Eichs greets.

“Are you okay?” Mats asks.

“I’m great.” Sidney doesn’t know why he bothers lying. All three of them raise skeptical eyebrows. Sid shrugs. “Could be better. Do you want to talk strategy for the Czech Republic?”

“I want to kick your ass at video games you’ve never heard of,” Eichs says. He slings an arm around Sid’s shoulders.

Sidney doesn’t have anything better to do so he lets them drag him up to Eichs’s room.

#

They lose to the Czech Republic to finish off the pre-tournament games. It’s their first loss of the tournament, and Sid tries not to let it weigh too heavily on him. He changes into his Team North America tracksuit and ducks out of the locker room.

His hair is still damp from his shower. There are guys in Team Canada tracksuits filing in, and Sid pauses. He knew they had a game tonight, but he didn’t expect to run into any of them. The red and white awakens the guilt he’s done his best to keep down. He knows he’s supposed to be playing with them. He would feel more guilty if he remembered who any of them are.

A few of them look up. Sid thinks he recognizes one of them, but he’s  _ old _ and has all this facial hair. Sid’s mouth fall open. “ _ Bergy _ ?”

“Croz!”

Bergeron steps out of the line, and he draws Sidney into a hug. Sidney laughs and hugs him back, surprised with the strength in Bergy’s arms. Sid steps back and looks Bergy over as Bergy does the same. 

“I’d heard about it but it’s something else seeing it.” He clasps Sid’s shoulders. “Shit, Croz. Can’t do anything by halves.”

“Apparently not.” Sid catches a glimpse of someone behind Bergy. “Holy shit.  _ Webs _ ? You’re huge!”

Weber steps out of the line and his lifts Sid off his feet as he squeezes the air out of him. He laughs as he sets Sid back on the ground. “It’s what happens people grow up. You just went the wrong way.”

“I’ll be back to normal soon.”

“Not soon enough.” Webs’s smile fades for a moment before he says, “Want to see some of your other friends? Hey, G, get that ginger ass of yours over here.”

An extremely wary hockey player makes his way over. Even if he didn’t look so shady, Sid knows better than to trust the grin on Webs’s face. He looks “G” up and down. 

“You won together at Worlds last summer,” Bergy says. He’s smiling but he’s also shifted a little to the left so he’s between Sid and this G fellow. 

An unexpected save comes from the locker room as his Team North America teammates file out. Eks and Davo stop in the doorway. The next wave of teammates run into them. It’s Eichs who elbows his way through.

His eyes narrow. “Giroux?” He comes up on Sid’s left and crosses his arm over his chest. “Don’t you have a game to play?” 

McKinnon comes up on his right.

Sid tries to look as if he has any clue what’s going on. 

“Sorry about your loss,” one of other Team Canada guys says.

He doesn’t sound very sorry. Eichs bristles, and this, at least, Sid knows how to handle. “We should eat so we make it back in time for puck drop.”

“Croz--” Bergy reaches out, but Sid ducks the touch. He leads his team down the other hallway. No one says anything until Muzz clears his throat and turns them down a different hallway. Sid lets him take over leading so they can get out of the building.

#

“What did I miss?” Sid asks at dinner. He’s almost cleared his plate, down to the last few broccoli florets. He drags them through the steak sauce. “Who was the ginger?”

“Claude Giroux,” Muzz answers. “He plays for the Flyers.”

“Like Coots and Ghost.” Sid nods at his teammates. He even manages to smile even though it feels more like a grimace. Forsberg was a Flyer too.  _ Whiny. Baby. Diver.  _ Sid’s fingers curl, but he doesn’t let them ball into fists.

“Sure,” McKinnon says. The whole team watches Sid wary, as if they’re afraid of what he’ll do.

He finishes his broccoli.

#

Russia beats Canada on a late third period goal by Ovechkin. 

It’s probably why the coverage later that night is all about Sidney. The guys are all hanging out in McKinnon’s room. Sid feels weird crashing, he’s their captain and also older than them even if he also isn’t. But they’re a team of misfits, and they need to bond as much as possible so Sid goes.

The TV is on in the background and Mike Milbury asks, “Can Team Canada win without Crosby?”

“No,” Sid answers.

“Uh, sorry.” McKinnon scrambles for the remote.

Sidney waves him off. “I meant no, Team Canada isn’t winning this tournament. We are.”

Eichs laughs. “We’re the joke of the tournament.”

“No one expects us to make it out of the group stage,” Saader says.

Johnny’s shoulders slump. He stares at his hands. 

“I do,” Sid says quietly. Then, once everyone’s attention is on him, he adds, “We’re a team full of players with something to prove. There isn’t anything more dangerous than that. Mats is here to show he’s ready to play in the NHL, Eichs is proving he isn’t Davo, Davo’s proving he isn’t me.” Sid’s gaze falls on Saader. “You’re proving you can win without Chicago. All of us here, there’s something we’re playing for. And this ‘joke’ of team--we’ll be the only ones laughing at the end of the tournament.”

Speech made, Sid wedges himself between Mats and Larks. “Let’s watch Friends.”

#

They fly to Toronto for group play. Their first game is against Finland. Sidney prepares for it the way he prepares for every game. The routine settles him. By the time they hit the ice for warm-ups, Sid’s ready for the game. He isn’t, it turns out, ready for how loud the crowd is.

He looks around, surprised enough that McKinnon claps his shoulder. “I guess you don’t remember playing for Team Canada in Vancouver. Canada loves you, even if you’ve decided to play your whole career in Pittsburgh.”

The noise of the crowd continues through warm-ups. It grows muted as Team Finland’s roster is announced. Team North America gets a mixed reaction. The Canadians are cheered. The Americans, with the exception of Mats, are loudly booed. 

“Huh,” Sid says as they skate over to Coach McLellan for one last talk before the game starts.

“Huh? That’s your captainly reaction?” Ghost scowls as if Sid personally booed him. 

“That’s my thinking out loud reaction.” Sid flashes a quick smile then turns his full attention to their coach.

#

Sidney scores his first goal of the tournament, one minute and twenty seven seconds into the game. 

“Seriously?” McKinnon demands, shouting to be heard over the the crowd. “ _ Eighty seven  _ seconds in?”

Sidney laughs and looks around the building.

The fans fall quiet too soon. He needs them invested in this team before their first big match-up. It’s thinking far ahead, but they’ll meet Team Canada, either in the semis or the finals. They’ll need Toronto behind them when that comes.

It takes almost the entire period, but the officials finally call a penalty against Finland. Sidney grabs Mats’s sleeve and hauls him over the boards with him. “Here’s the deal, if you score, this place will go wild.”

Mats nods, focused and serious.

Sid’s the one who cracks a smile. “So I’m going to get you the puck.”

Mats, far more unflappable than Sid had been at his age, nods again. 

Sidney wins the faceoff. He knocks the puck back to Mo who passes to Davo. He passes back to Sid who takes the puck around the back of the net. One Finn follows him. Another’s waiting for him on the other side of the net. Sid barrels by him, skates up towards the point then turns sharply back. He slides the puck to Mats. 

He bangs it home. 

There’s a moment of silence as the crowd draws breath. Then it’s pandemonium. Mats nods again and doesn’t even crack a smile as the whole stadium chants, “Auston’s ours”. Sid crashes into Mats. Then Davo and Eichs. Mo laughs as he slaps all their helmets.

“Here we fucking go!” Mo shouts. He gives Mats an extra helmet slap.

_ We can do this,  _ Sid thinks as they skate to the bench.

#

Midway through the second period, Laine runs Mats in open ice. It’s a showy hit, Mats’s legs fly up then he lands hard on his ass. The crowd calls from a penalty or blood. They get neither.  

On the bench, Sid chews his mouth guard before he nudges Eichs. “Next time he steps on the ice with us, bury him. I’ll cover for you defensively.”

Eichs lifts two expressive eyebrows. 

“We need this crowd on our side. Mats is the darling of Toronto and Laine just dared to hit him. Now you hit Laine, harder.”

Eichs’s skepticism grows.

They don’t have time for this. “Look, I revived the NHL and I saved the Penguins franchise. I know how to spin a narrative.”

“I think I’m starting to understand why so many people like you.”

#

It takes another four minutes before a shift change means that Laine’s on the ice with them. Sid and Eichs exchange a nod. Sid drops down on defense as Eichs loads up a hit. He skates right for Laine who sees him coming and, to his credit, doesn’t dodge the hit.

The collision is loud as the two bodies slam into each other. 

The crowd eats it up. They pound on the glass, demanding more. 

Johnny darts in, scoops up the loose puck, and starts them down the ice. Sid takes off after him.

#

They win 2-1 over Finland which means Mats’s goal stands as the game-winner. Sid claps him on the shoulder. “You did good.” He gives Eichs a nod of acknowledgement which the prickly American returns.

Then Sid settles in his stall and waits for the reporters to flood the room.

#

Their second game is against Russia. Sidney’s done a good job not thinking about Geno or Russia since his house. It’s impossible to avoid thinking about now. The reporters ask him about whether Ovechkin or Malkin is the bigger threat. Coach McLellan talks ideal match-ups. 

Sid sits in his hotel room and thinks about how his last clear memory of Ovechkin is losing to him in the Calder race. For Ovechkin, it’s been  _ years _ , but the loss still stings for Sid. A quick Google search tells him that he’s been the more successful one out of the two of them since their rookies season. Both internationally and in the NHL, Sid has won while Ovechkin’s fallen short.

But Sid doesn’t remember any of that.

He remembers himself not measuring up.

Tomorrow, he will. 

A knock at his hotel door pulls him out of his thoughts. He rolls off his bed and opens the door. Geno’s standing there, shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

“Hi,” Geno says.

“Hi.” Sid steps back, an invitation.

Geno takes him up on it, ambling into the room. He wants to ask if Geno’s felt this same pull between them, but Geno doesn’t speak a whole lot of English, and it’s a hard concept to put through Google translate. Probably, Geno shouldn’t be in his room right now. They don’t know each other, and they have a big game tomorrow. 

Sid still sits against his headboard and pats the space next to him. “I want to remember you again.” Knowing that Geno can’t understand him makes it easier to Sid to keep talking. “There are all these clues. I think you’re important to me. I want to know that you are. And I want to know why. I--I think I’m risking a lot to be with you. And I’m sure you are too. There has to be a good reason, right?”

Geno blinks at him, slow and confused, but he sits next to him. He stretches his arm out across the top of the headboard, the kind of move Sid’s Rimouski teammates would try to pull on girls all the time. 

Sid scoots closer to Geno and doesn’t hide his smile when Geno’s fingers brush the back of his neck. “Did you see all my stuff in your house too? I wonder how much you’ve figured out.”

Geno strokes the back of Sid’s neck, making him shiver. Then his slides his hand up into Sid’s hair and turns Sid to look at him. His gaze is darker now and, just like in his kitchen, his gaze dips to Sid’s mouth.

Sid wets his lips, unable to help himself. “I guess we don’t need words for  _ that _ .”

Geno huffs, an amused  _ you’re still talking?  _ and leans in. Sid leans in to meet him, his lips buzzing and they haven’t even kissed yet. He closes his eyes, and he can feel Geno’s soft exhale, and--

There’s a knock at the door.

Sid groans and opens his eyes.

Geno shoots a dark glare at the door. 

The knocking grows louder and more insistent.

“Ugh.” Sid slides out of bed. Geno catches his hand, but Sid pulls away, and opens the door instead. McKinnon’s hand is poised to knock again when he realizes the door is open. “Uh, so, someone might’ve dared Johnny to eat something and now Johnny’s face is like green. Do we need to call the trainer?”

Sidney’s the captain of this team and, very shortly, he’ll be significantly older than everyone on it. It means he can’t facepalm, no matter how much he might want to. He does take a deep breath. “Just a minute.” He looks over his shoulder.

Geno must see the disappointment, because he climbs off Sid’s bed. He’s lanky, tall and too skinny as if he shot up a few inches and hasn’t caught up to his growth spurt yet. Sid can’t help but wonder what he looks like in the future. Are his shoulders solid under Sidney’s hands? Is his torso thicker? Does he stand like he knows he belongs and isn’t afraid someone will snatch him away at any moment?

“Woah,” McKinnon says as Geno brushes by him, making sure to bump their shoulders against each other. “Uh.” He looks from Sid to Geno’s retreating back then to Sid again. “Did I…”

“Let’s go see Johnny and make sure he’s not dying,” Sidney says. 

“I don’t think he’s  _ dying _ ,” McKinnon’s quick to point out. “We just had a bunch of those packets from fast food joints. Ketchup and mustard and mayo and some other stuff.”

“How many did he eat?” Sid asks.

McKinnon scuffs his foot on the carpet. “Uh…”

“Nevermind. How come I’m one of the youngest and I’m not this stupid?”

“You are the Savior of Canadian Hockey. That probably grows you up real quick.”

Sid rolls his eyes then dead arms McKinnon for good measure. 

“Hey! You’re going to regret that once you remember me.”

“Doubtful.”

#

Sid can’t help but feel weird as they take the ice for warm-up. He keeps looking over his shoulder, expecting to see someone there. It’s just empty space because he goes last.

He always goes last. 

#

He takes the opening faceoff against Pavel Datsyuk. “You’re still playing?” Sidney asks. 

Datsyuk wins the faceoff.

Sid has to scramble on defense, but they keep the puck out of their net and that’s what’s important.

#

Some guy named  _ Kuznetsov  _ hits Sidney so hard it knocks the breath out of him. Sidney whacks at his ankles with his stick and the guy looks surprised then he sneers. “Cheap shots all you got?”

The angry, frustrated part of him wants to hit this guy harder. Fuck whoever this is. But a temper tantrum isn’t what the team needs. He and Mario talked about this, a lot, during the season. How to be in control. How to channel his emotions into something useful.

He takes a deep breath and skates away.

#

He scores on the next shift.

He can’t help skating by the Russian bench. His gaze seeks out 92. His lips peel back in a smile. “How’d you like that shot?”

#

Sid’s on the receiving end of the gentlest check of his life. He’s bumped into the boards then held there. When he twists, he isn’t surprised to see that it’s Geno pinning him there. Sid’s distracted long enough for Ovechkin to wind up and shoot. 

Eks blocks the shot and Sid pushes away from Geno to chase after the puck.

His chest aches again.

#

They beat Russia. 

In the locker room, Sid digs the heel of his palm into his sternum until he has a reason to hurt.

#

They beat Sweden which makes them the top team in Group B.

“Holy shit,” Johnny says. “We’re advancing.”

“You shouldn’t use language like that,” Sidney says.

The locker room falls silent. Sid bites his lip but can only hold out for another two seconds before he bursts into laughter.

“You fucker!” someone shouts but they’re laughing too. 

#

The next day, there’s a box of Just For Men: Touch of Gray in his locker. He grins as he picks up the box and looks it over. 

#

Team Russia is slated to play Team Canada in the semis which means Team North America faces Team Europe.

“All least the pre-tournament prepared us for this,” Johnny gripes. “How many times can we play one team in a single tournament?”

“Once more,” Sidney answers. 

“Once more,” McKinnon echoes, pitching his voice comically deep.

Sid flips him off and the room dissolves into laughter again.

#

They put on their black tracksuits with the orange triangle and pile into a couple rows at the ACC so they can watch Team Russia take on Team Canada. Despite Geno and Ovechkin’s best efforts, they’re not good enough to win. They lose 3-5, and Sid has to look away when the camera zoom in on Geno, and the way he hangs his head as if he accepts full responsibility for the loss.

#

They beat Team Europe.

Again.

It means they face Team Canada in a best-of-three to determine the winner of this circus of a tournament. Sidney wants to win. He always wants to win. But he also wants this all to be over. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can get back to Pittsburgh and the life he’s supposed to be living.

He looks around the locker room as the young faces in the room. Some of them look eager. Some of them look scared. Some of them square their shoulders as if by looking confident they’ll then feel confident. 

In a few days, Sidney won’t be their peer anymore. He’ll be  _ home _ .  _ My own or Geno’s?  _ He shakes the thought from his head. He can’t afford any distractions. What happens in a couple of days will happen. In the meantime, he has a tournament to win.

#

Mats is somehow even quieter leading up to the first game. The guy is calm and steady, two things Sid knows they’ll need before the tournament is over. But they also need a spark, and this is the best guy to do it.

He invites Mats out to lunch. Well, they order lunch to the hotel. They’d probably cause a traffic jam if they went out into Toronto right now.

“Carey Price is in net for Team Canada,” Sidney says. His full attention is on cutting his steak. “I hear he’s a pretty good goaltender.”

“Yeah.”

“Plays for the Habs. Are they still rivals with the Leafs or has the world completely changed since I was a rookie?”

Mats almost smiles. “There’s a rivalry.”

“Would be cool then to score a goal against him. If you thought Toronto lost its shit before then it would be nothing compared to that.”

“You’re talking as if I can just decide to score a goal on the best goaltender in the world.”

“The best players can. Are you one of them?”

#

Mats scores on his first shift in the first game of the finals. 

The crowd is the loudest it’s been all tournament.

Sidney nods at Mats as he skates through the fist bump line. Mats nods back.

#

The first goal catches Team Canada off guard and they never recover.

Sid has a goal and two assists on their way to a 5-1 win.

#

They’re blown out 0-6 in Game 2.

#

It comes down to the final game. 

Of course it does. 

They have a light skate, and Coach McLellan goes over the game plan one last time. Sidney knows the practice isn’t for major changes. It’s comfort more than anything. They skate together, pass together, score together, and Sidney does feel more settled at the end of it. 

“Um,” Johnny says.

Sidney looks up to see Geno near the benches. He’s leaning against the tunnel wall in gray sweatpants and a Penguins T-shirt. He has a hat on it that says 412. Sidney can’t help but smile as he skates over.

“Hey,” he says.

Geno smiles at him. There are dark circles under his eyes as if he hasn’t been sleeping, the loss keeping him awake. If Sid’s last memory of Ovechkin had been losing the Calder race then Geno’s last memory of Russia must have been fleeing it. No wonder he couldn’t believe Russia wanted him to represent his country. And no wonder he looks so disappointed that they lost.

Sid steps off the ice and grabs Geno’s hands. “Penguins soon.”

“Penguins.” Geno lifts their joined hands and presses them to the logo on his chest. “Penguins forever.”

“Are they always like this?” someone whispers loudly behind Sidney.

“Worse,” Muzz answers.

Sidney clears his throat but he doesn’t step away. Talking with Geno has settled him in a way that nothing else has. He wants to cling to the moment even longer. 

“Soon,” Geno says. He scowls at Sidney’s teammates then heads back down the tunnel. 

“What the fuck?” Eichs asks. “Do you two even know each other?”

“He escaped from Russia to play Penguins hockey,” Sidney says.  _ He came here to play with me.  _ “I was about to meet him when I woke up.” Sid hadn’t talked about this with anyone so he isn’t surprised when everyone crowds closer, looking for more. “Gonchar was bringing Geno to Mario’s for the first time. He’d just flown in from LA. The doorbell rang and I opened the door and then I was awake and the Cup was there and Geno was there and then…” Sid waves his hand as if to encapsulate everything that’s happened since. 

“Do you know what you wished for?” Larks asks.

Sidney shakes his head. All he knows is that one moment he was opening the door to meet Geno and the next he was waking up to find out that ten years later, they were still playing together and had just won the Cup. For the second time. It--no matter what fears and worries and doubts he’s had since waking up in the wrong time, it’s all made better by knowing that when everything reverts back to normal, Geno will be there. 

There’s a whole history between them, and he gets to take the shortcut to it. 

“Come on,” Sid says. “Showers then lunch. We have to fuel up if we want to win.”

#

Bergy scores the opening goal.

Davo scores the equalizer only two shifts later.

The crowd doesn’t know who to cheer for. Sid makes it easier. They’re on the power play after Perry ‘accidentally’ clips Eks up high. Sid takes the first unit over the boards. He skates backwards and pulls Davo along with him.

“Remember the first time we connected on the power play? Do you remember how loud it was? Let’s go do it again.”

“Do I factor into this anywhere?” Eichs asks drily.

“Stand around and look pretty?” Mats offers.

They all laugh, and it means they’re loose for the faceoff. Sid’s against Bergy, and he wins the faceoff clean. Their unit goes to work, cycling the puck. Canada tries to intimidate them and push them off the puck, but they don’t panic. 

When Bergy comes at him, Sid twists away and passes up to Eichs. Eichs uses his body to shield the puck from Toews. He shuffles a pass to Davo. He passes to Sidney who drops down and fakes a shot. Everyone bites. He passes back to Davo who snaps a shot high glove side and in.

Sidney leaps on Davo and laughs as the kid almost falls. 

#

In the third, it’s Team Canada who’s on the power play, but Muzz stones them over and over. Sidney takes deep breaths on the bench then hits the ice as soon as they’re at even strength again.

With two minutes left in the game, Price skates to the bench. Giroux hops on as the extra attacker. Sid tracks the puck as it bounces from Giroux to Toews to Tavares back to Giroux. He shoots the puck and Muzz kicks the rebound out to the boards. 

Mo flings the puck down the ice.

He misses the open net, and there’s an icing called. Team Canada switches their players. Sid chew on the edge of his mouth guard.

Time ticks down but not fast enough. 

Muzz is all over the place, knocking the puck away, and Sidney thinks it’ll be enough. Then Toews blows past Saader, slips a pass between Jonesy’s legs and Giroux is there to tap the puck in.

3-3.

Team Canada celebrates as if they’ve just won the damn thing. 

Sid squares his shoulders. There’s overtime to prepare for.

#

Sid takes the ice to start the overtime period. They don’t score on their first shift. Sid’s disappointed, but he sits with Davo at the end of the bench and details what they can do better. 

Muzz and Eks and Ghost keep them in the game.

Sid takes his line over the boards again. 

This time, it’s a defensive zone faceoff. Sid’s tossed for trying to go too early. Davo slots into his place. He wins the draw. Mo gets Sid the puck, and he passes to Davo. He takes off down the ice and everyone else scrambles to keep up with him.

Getzlaf chases him down but he won’t be quick enough. Burns won’t catch him either, but they try. Sid skates up the opposite wing, forcing Getzlaf to divide his attention. Price leaves Getzlaf to cover Sid and he squares up against Davo. Davo shoots, and Price kicks the puck out. It hits Getzlaf’s skate and jumps into the air. Sid bats it down with his glove, settles it with his stick, then shoots. 

Price pushes off from the far post, but he isn’t quite enough and the puck squeaks past him.

Goal.

Sid flings his arms up in the air and his gloves fly off. Davo leaps into his arms. Mo crashes into him. The rest of the team floods the ice, and Sid’s lost in a pile of teammates. They’re shouting and screaming and people keep kissing his cheeks, but he doesn’t care because they  _ won _ . 

Sid laughs and finds Eichs in the pile. “Not bad for a made-up team.”

Eichs laughs and slaps his back too hard. Sid won’t feel it once they start drinking.

#

After the win, Sid goes home to Pittsburgh. He sits in his house and waits the spell to undo itself. 

Nothing happens.

On Day 2, he goes to practice. The guys who played in the World Cup of Hockey were given a pass from the beginning of training camp. Sid isn’t here to skate today. He wants to see his team, hoping it’ll spark his return to his older self. They greet him with smiles and some good natured ribbing and a flicker of disappointment.

“I’ll be back to myself soon,” he promises.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Jen says. “The reporters will want you.”

Sidney shrugs. “So I’ll talk to them. It won’t be anything interesting. I don’t know when I’ll turn back.”

“...And you’re both here,” Jen says.

Sid turns, a smile spreading across his face before he even sees Geno. He’s wearing the 412 hat again, and a Penguins tracksuit. Objectively, it doesn’t look very good, except it’s Geno in Pens gear and Sidney’s traitorous heart skips a few beats. 

“Dude,” someone says.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Muzz says.

Sid’s smile only grows. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Geno looks well-rested and happy. He smiles brightly at Sidney. 

_ How much longer do we need to wait?  _ Sidney wonders.  _ The season is right around the corner. I want my Geno back. I want  _ myself  _ back. _ “We’re Penguins again.”

“Penguins.” Geno taps the logo on his shirt then the logo on Sid’s.

Sidney catches Geno’s wrist and holds his hand there. Whenever they’re close like this, Sid’s chest stops aching. He looks up at Geno--fuck, he really is tall--and smiles helplessly at him. “I--” Sidney’s head buzzes and fizzes. He shakes his head as if to clear it. And suddenly--

“Hello, nice to meet, I am Evgeni Malkin.” He sees Geno standing in Mario’s doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking big and awkward yet small and lost at the same time.

The heartbreak when they lose to the Red Wings in the Finals. Geno’s fury then sadness then the fierce look in his eye when he found Sid and promised, “Next time, we beat them.”

The next time when they  _ won _ . The elation and the joy and everyone piling on top of each other. Flower grinning behind his mask and Talbo whooping and bragging about his goals and everyone too happy to give him shit for it. Geno finding Sid at the party. “I promised,” he said. 

Sid’s concussion.

Geno’s knee injury.

Long days on the couch, miserable together. 

The Sochi Olympics and the tough talk they had after it was clear something wasn’t right with Geno. The tears and the way he glared at Sidney as if they were his fault. Then the way he folded into Sidney’s arms as if he’d forgive Sidney as long as he made it better.

Their first kiss.

Their second.

Sneaking around like they were teenagers, giggling and stealing pockets of time.

Lying side by side in his bed and making a stupid wish on the Cup.

Sidney opens his eyes. He doesn’t know when he closed them. Around him is silence. In front of him is Geno. Geno who is staring at Sidney as if he’s a revelation. Geno who’s the right age. 

“You’re back,” Jen says.

“We need a minute,” Sidney tells her.

He drags Geno into the nearest empty room. He shuts the door firmly behind them. “Geno,” he says. Then, because he remembers. “ _ Zhenya _ .”

Geno clasps Sid’s face between his hands. If there wasn’t a crowd of people outside waiting for them then Sidney would let himself be kissed. But there are people out there so Sidney says, “I was wrong. All those years weren’t wasted. It’s what led us here.”

Geno stares at him for a long moment then his face breaks into a brilliant smile. “Secret romantic?”

Sidney blushes.

“True,” Geno says as if Sidney had answered. “Not very secret.”

Sidney can’t believe they spent the summer as their 19 and 20 year old selves because they wished they’d hooked up sooner. “We can never tell anyone about this,” Sidney says.

Geno nods solemnly. “Secret.”

Sidney takes a deep breath. “Ready to go face the music?”

“Ready to take you home,” Geno answers.

Sidney laughs and allows himself one brief kiss before they head out to talk to Jen.

#

Back-to-back Stanley Cup Champions.

It’s a hell of a feeling.

“No one let them alone with the Cup!” Flower shouts because he’s an asshole.

“We learned our lesson,” Sidney says, but he doesn’t fight too hard as the rookies take the Cup. He leans against Geno’s side.

“Maybe I wanted another wish,” Geno murmurs, his voice a whisper in Sid’s ear. He slides a hand up Sid’s shirt. They aren’t being very subtle, but everyone here is drunk. Maybe they won’t remember this later. “Maybe I wanted to wish for baby.”

“You don’t need to wish for that. When we’re ready, there are ways for us to have a baby. And we won’t have to give him or her up at the end of the summer.”

“When we’re ready?” Geno repeats.

Sid turns so Geno can see how serious he is. “We have forever. We don’t need to rush.”

Geno smiles and lays his palm over Sid’s heart. His chest hasn’t ached since he came back to the right body, and he never said anything to Geno about it, but he thinks Geno figured it out anyway. He likes to touch him like this, large palm against Sid’s chest until Sid can feel the heat from his skin. It’s a promise and a reassurance rolled into one.

_ I’m here. We’re both here.  _

Sidney doesn’t need to make wishes on the Cup. He has everything he wants. 


End file.
